


I Guess Time Will Tell What the Come Down Is Like

by overratedantihero



Series: White Picket Fence, I'll Put A Rock On Your Finger [1]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, Deathstroke the Terminator (Comics), Nightwing (Comics)
Genre: Age Inappropriate Relationship, And Bad Decisions, Court house marriage, Light Petting, M/M, Marriage of Convenience, pina coladas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-11
Updated: 2018-08-18
Packaged: 2019-06-25 18:06:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15646101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/overratedantihero/pseuds/overratedantihero
Summary: Dick and Slade get married and then run off to the Maldives to think about what they've done.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> sometimes self care is getting courthouse married to your nemesis and then running away to the maldives together

No one, _no one_ , could challenge Dick’s dedication. Although not nearly so single minded as his father, Dick was unwavering in his commitment to doing good, even if he occasionally found “good” to be muddled. He’d faked his own death to do good. Infiltrated a spy organization. Complied with the Court of Owls. Posed as Renegade. Arrested his little brother. Taken on the cowl. Dick was no stranger to sacrifice.

That being said, Dick had a sneaking suspicion that, this time, he’d gone too far.

“Drink some champagne, kid. You look pale,” Slade said, taking two flutes from the stewardess and holding one out to Dick. Dick sat up in his seat, lowering his tray table with shaking hands. Slade raised his eyebrows from behind the ridiculous sunglasses he was wearing. The stewardess did not continue down the aisle. Instead, she watched Dick with furrowed brows and slightly parted lips, as if she wanted to reach out to him but was unsure how with Slade so close.

 _Blink twice if you’re okay,_ Dick thought to himself, for his own amusement. He did not blink.

“Thank you,” he murmured, taking the glass with a steady hand and smiling a 1,000-Watt smile at the stewardess, who visibly relaxed. “I’m sorry, could I have a can of ginger ale too? Flying makes me nervous, you know?”

The stewardess murmured an, “of course,” and disappeared to the front of the plane to procure his ginger ale. Slade leaned his seat back.

“We’re going to the Maldives, not your execution,” Slade mumbled. “Relax.” He took a sip of his champagne, as if to demonstrate.

“Says you! You’re the one wearing sunglasses, inside of a _plane_ ,” Dick hissed, immediately grinning again when the stewardess returned. “Thank you,” he beamed, taking the can and tucking it next to him.

He waited until the stewardess was several seats down before returning his attention to Slade. “Why are we even here?” The glass trembled in his hand, and so he took sizeable drag from it, just to avoid spilling any. Roy would be so unhappy with him. Roy made him think about Jason, Jason made him think about Damian, Damian made him think about Bruce, and thus Dick drained the glass before he even noticed that he’d been drinking at all.  

Slade sighed, removing his sunglasses and flicking a bored glance towards Dick. “For our honeymoon,” he deadpanned.

Dick sunk low in his seat, cuddling the can of soda in the crook of his arm. “What have I done?” he whispered.

When the stewardess made her way back towards First Class, she once again paused to shoot Dick a worried glance. Slade gestured to her, and she leaned in so that he could say, “Could I get a White Russian with Bailey’s for my companion? He’s still a little nervous.”

The stewardess fixed Dick with a steady gaze. “Sir? Is that what you need?”

Dick blinked, his skin felt both heavy and dry. He needed to dig his moisturizer from his carry-on. Sunscreen too, they were headed to the Maldives. He couldn’t remember what SPF his moisturizer was. He realized the stewardess was still watching him. He blinked again.

“Yeah. Yeah, sounds good. Could I get a dessert menu?”

When they landed, Dick was both drunk and strung out on the sheer amount of sugar he’d eaten during the flight. Slade kept a hand around his waist as they made their way towards baggage claim. Around them, couples wearing matching shorts and button ups milled about seemingly en masse.

“Huh,” Slade grunted. “We should buy clothes. No need to stick out.”

“Maybe,” Dick slurred, “you should consider buying me a ring. Rude to marry me without a ring. Bruce got Selina a ring, and Bruce sucks.” Dick was struggling to match Slade’s gait, and Slade was very close to dragging him along regardless. But they were beginning to incur some curious glances, and so Slade slowed down and pulled Dick aside, out of the flow of foot traffic.

“Little Bird, listen to me,” Slade said lowly, sternly. Dick obligingly blinked at him.  “I’ve reserved us a hotel room at a resort. Hold yourself up until then, and then you can descend into whatever moral crisis you’ve invented for yourself, do you understand?”

Dick nodded. “Still want a ring.”

“You’re drunk,” Slade admonished, guiding them back into the crowd. They reached baggage claim and collected what little they brought with them. While they waited for a taxi, Dick supplied helpfully, “Drunk, and ringless.”

While on the ride to the hotel, Dick cuddled up close to Slade, sleepy and dizzy as the alcohol worked its way through his system.

“Newlyweds?” the driver asked, uncertainty creeping into his voice as he glanced back at them through the review mirror. Slade raised his eyebrows, daring the driver to doubt their poorly constructed appearances.

“Yeah,” Dick muttered, fisting the hem of Slade's shirt. “But he didn’t even get me a _ring_.”

When they reached their room, Dick fell onto the bed, kicking off his shoes and crawling on top of the covers. There were rose petals arranged in the shape of a heart, but Dick thoughtlessly scattered them when he flopped down and sighed.

Slade slid a hand under Dick’s shirt to stroke a line up his back. “At least take your shirt off, pretty bird. I’ll be back in a little while, don’t cause trouble.”

Dick muttered an unintelligible reply and promptly fell into a deep, drunken sleep that can only come after hours of sugar and alcohol and crisis.

When he woke, his head was pounding, and his stomach rolled uncomfortably. The shower drummed pleasantly in the other room. Dick yawned and then grimaced; his face was sticky with drool. He reached up to wipe at his mouth and there, on his left fourth finger, there was a wide, silver band with a thin, vertical row of sapphires.

“Tungsten,” Slade said. Dick started, he didn’t even hear the shower cut out, much less Slade enter. “It won’t scratch. Neither will the sapphire.”

Dick blinked. “You got me a ring.”

Slade strode over and licked his thumb, swiping it across the corner of Dick’s mouth. Dick should have been embarrassed that Slade was cleaning drool from his skin, but he was too dumbfounded that Deathstroke the Terminator bought him a wedding ring.

“You asked for one,” Slade reminded him. “I also bought us matching outfits so that we can blend with the local tourists.” Slade straddled Dick’s waist, letting his towel fall to wayside as he pushed Dick back down on the bed. He hovered over Dick, smelling like fresh water and like coconut shampoo. 

Dick shook his head, gathering Slade’s slick hair back because it was dripping big, cold drops on Dick’s t-shirt that Dick definitely meant to shed before falling asleep. “You bought me a _wedding band_.”

Slade raised his eyebrows and rolled off Dick. He stood and finished drying off, tossing the towel at Dick’s head when he was through. By the time Dick pulled the towel from his face, Slade was already pulling on a pair of pink shorts decorated with palm branches and coconuts.

“Well,” Slade said, buttoning up the matching shirt, “we did get married.”

Dick scrambled off the bed, his head swimming. “Yeah, but that was to, you know. Prevent Joey or Rose from institutionalizing you again, and to ensure that Bruce’s legal rights over me are…less. After everything that they’ve done. And for tax benefits, I guess.”

Slade paused and looked at Dick. “Neither of us pay taxes.”

Dick paused, opened his mouth, closed it, and then murmured, “Well, I’m. I’m a dependent, I guess. On Bruce’s taxes. I… haven’t really made an income since I was a police officer. It’s all volunteer work now. Do you not pay taxes?”

Slade closed his eye. “No, Dick. I don’t pay taxes. I do not declare the fees I retain for my services to the federal government.” Slade opened his eye and smirked, “My clients are often employees of the federal government, if that’s any comfort. “

Dick frowned. “It’s not. But. Thanks.”

“There are other benefits, aside from taxes. As my lawfully wedded husband, you’re not required to testify against me in court. Our conversations are protected by our marriage.”

“Oh,” Dick murmured.

Slade tossed a pair of clothes at Dick and finished dressing. Dick grimaced but pulled on the nearly matching pink shorts and t-shirt. His distaste for the clothes subsided when he realized why Slade insisted they dress. Outside, the sun was high and hot, and the beach was pristine.

While Dick waded in the pale blue water, Slade ordered them drinks. Dick’s phone vibrated, causing Dick to jump. He’d forgotten he’d brought it. He’d also forgotten to turn off his data, the roaming charges would be noticeable. He pulled it out and grimaced at the extensive list of messages from Bruce, Tim, Damian, Wally, Barbara, even Helena—

Slade plucked Dick’s phone from his hands, deftly removed the sim card, and then snapped it in half before tucking it into his pocket and returning Dick’s phone to his still open hand.

“Normally, I’d toss that into the water, but I wouldn’t want to pollute the beach,” Slade snarked, handing Dick a white, frosty cocktail piled high with tropical fruit. Dick tucked away the husk of his cellphone and took a hesitant sip of the drink. His eyes rolled back.

“Oh. This is good,” he murmured, nearly forgetting about his cellphone. “Does it even have alcohol in it?”

“Obscene amounts,” Slade promised, sipping whiskey from a rocks glass. “Forget Gotham, pretty bird. We’re laying low, and you need sun. That city isn’t good for you.”

“And you are?” Dick retorted. Slade grinned a wolfish grin.

“Does it matter?”  

Dick wanted to argue with him, but the cold drink felt _really_ good on his parched throat. And he couldn’t argue when Slade insisted he lay down on a blanket (made warm by the sand), nor when Slade hiked up his shirt to rub sunscreen into his back.

“So, when are we getting divorced?” Dick asked, although it sounded more like a sigh as Slade dug the heel of his palm into Dick’s knotted back. Slade snorted, and pulled away so that Dick could roll over. Slade leisurely rubbed more of the sugary smelling sunscreen on Dick's chest, his shoulders. Then Slade kissed Dick, slow and sweet and Dick realized that Slade hadn't been drinking whiskey, he'd been drinking dark rum. Slade pulled away. The lotion smelled like coconut. So did Dick's drink. He felt impossibly sleepy, given he’d already napped.

It would be irresponsible to fall asleep on the beach, with the sun bearing down and Slade's hands on him.

It was irresponsible to abscond from Gotham while the family was in chaos.

It was irresponsible to marry a morally void mercenary to steal away some level of independence from family.

Dick fell asleep on the beach.  


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alfred finds out, Slade and Dick return home... sort of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay i'm done now i swear.

One of Alfred’s quieter tasks in the Manor was also one of his more pleasant tasks. Every morning, at precisely 7:00am, the mail ran. Thus, every morning, at precisely 7:05am, Alfred would take the 1939 Packard town car (a birthday gift from the Waynes, several years prior) and drive it down the long, winding road to the mail box, which was perched at the end of the estate. He would collect the mail, meander his way back, enjoying the beauty of the estate as he did, and upon his return he opened each piece of mail. In the old days, before the house was brimming with children however transient they may be, Alfred simply organized each piece of mail by pertinence and then brought it to Bruce along with his breakfast. Now, each member of the household received their own pile, organized by pertinence, which would patiently wait for the individual’s eventual return to the Manor.

This particular morning was oddly sunny for a Gotham dawn, and Alfred took just took a moment longer than usual at the mailbox, choosing to look through it there and enjoy the pleasant warmth. Bruce had his usual number of invitations, solicitations, and magazine subscriptions. Jason had a book, judging by the size and weight of the package. And Dick had… Dick had a rather wide envelope from the county clerk’s office. Alfred frowned and tucked the mail into the car. He would open them upon returning to the Manor.

When he did return, he put off Dick’s strange piece of mail by organizing Bruce’s first, even though he couldn’t help but glance over to the manila envelope. Finally, there was no putting it off. Alfred lifted the envelope and undid the clasp to open the flap. Taking a steadying breath, he pulled out the document inside.

And then promptly had to grab onto the counter to steady himself.

Alfred had made a rare miscalculation, and Bruce woke long enough to meander into the kitchen, where his breakfast and mail sat unattended to and where Alfred looked white as a sheet.

“What is it, Alfred?” Bruce asked, reaching over to the tray to grab a piece of toast. Alfred didn’t swat his hand away, and he bit into it with narrowed eyes.

Alfred blinked and then slowly glanced Bruce’s way, meeting his eyes. “Congratulations, Master Bruce. You’re a father-in-law.”

The toast fell to the floor.

“I’m sorry?” Bruce asked. “You’ll have to be a little more explicit Alfred, it’s early and I don’t think I heard you correctly.”

Alfred looked at the toast on the floor, without any emotion. To the toast, he said, “Master Dick’s certified marriage license arrived in the Post.”

Bruce picked the toast off the floor, unnerved by Alfred’s distant voice. “I haven’t seen Dick in upwards of a week, to _who_?”

Alfred licked his lips. He cleared his throat. Then he looked Bruce in the eyes and said, rather hoarsely, “To a Mr. Slade Wilson, sir.”

Bruce chucked the toast at the wall, and then a chair for good measure.

* * *

 

“Wake up, little bird. We’re here,” Slade said. Dick shifted in his reclined passenger seat. The car ride from the Gotham airport had been long, and Dick was still sleepy from a week of sun, cocktails, and gratuitous sex. In his time out of New Jersey, Dick had grown three shades darker and much more comfortable with what he and Slade had done.

That is, until he blearily opened his eyes to see a house that he did not recognize (not a _house_ , a McMansion.)

“…Where?” Dick asked, sitting up and rubbing his eyes. Slade smirked.

“I frequent Gotham too often to only maintain a few safe houses. I decided to purchase property here, for my extended visits. Like my house in Tanzania.”

Dick frowned. “Bruce isn’t going to like this. I thought you were taking me home to Bludhaven?”

“We’re married now,” Slade said, running his fingers through Dick’s hair. “This is your home too.”

Dick pulled back. “I’m not moving out of my apartment.”

Slade shook his head, let his hand drop. “Of course not. Think about it as your second home.”

“Third,” Dick asserted. “I have the Manor too.”

Slade resulting grin was disturbing, Dick wished he’d stop. “And I’ve ensured you’re still close to the Manor, for your father’s comfort.”

Dick blanched. “Slade. Slade what did you do.”

Slade pulled the car into the long, winding driveway, to the front of the house, without answering. He put the car in park and killed the engine. Dick unbuckled himself and scrambled out of the car while Slade leisurely stepped out.

“Come here, kid,” Slade said, gesturing over to himself. Dick hesitated but Slade rolled his eye. “You asked for an explanation. Come here.”

Dick slowly crept towards Slade’s side. Once he was close, Slade pointed out, into the distance. And there, Dick could make out, so clearly that he was kicking himself for not noticing before, the turrets of the Manor.”

“We’re neighbors,” Slade supplied helpfully.


End file.
